A healing touch?
by StayClose
Summary: In a desperate life-or-death situation, mage Hawke has only three options; she can let her best friend die, turn to blood magic, or try something that will probably ruin any remaining shreds of friendship between her and Fenris.


The sharp crack of electricity left her arm numb and tingling. A jagged white bolt shot from her hand towards the assassin who had appeared from nowhere behind Varric, but it was already too late. The dwarf's eyes went wide with disbelief, the assassin's knife slipping cruelly between his shoulder blades. Her spell hit the black-clad human full in the chest, sending him reeling.

Hawke thought she called Varric's name, screamed it as he slumped face-first into the dirt, but her breath was cut off by the tightening in her throat. There was no way she could have made a sound.

Fenris parried a sword thrust that grazed the air by her face. Oblivious, she kept moving forward, towards the prone figure of her best friend, and the spreading pool of his blood.

'No, no, no, no...' She heard her voice repeat the word.

The wound was small; the evidence of it no more than a narrow slit in the back of his coat, yet it was enough. The assassin's blade had found it's way straight into Varric's loyal heart, and stopped it dead.

Hawke tried desperately to concentrate, to pick at the edges of the fade with her mind. If she could tap into it's power, into the vast reserves of mana it held, she might still have a chance to save him. She swore with frustration and despair when the tentative grasp she held on it failed, exhaustion and fear clouding her abilities.

She looked up and watched Fenris drag his sword from the body of the last of their attackers, his pure white hair splashed with glistening red. An idea of the last-resort kind formed itself.

'Fenris, I need you to glow,' she said.

He turned on his heel. 'What?'

'Just do it!'

'Don't bark orders at me, mage,' he snapped. She could see the barriers going up; his innate distrust of magic, of her, taking over as usual. They were running out of time.

Hawke punched him in the face.

Fenris snarled and drew back his hand. The white lines of lyrium that marked his flesh shone in the dim light of the Darktown alley where they had been ambushed. She felt the familiar whine of magical potential as a dull ache in her back teeth.

Steeling herself, she ducked under the vicious right cross he swung at her head and touched the exposed skin of his upper arm.

Her senses were flooded by the immediate surge of power that flowed from his tattoos. Time itself seemed to slow down as she stepped away and looked again at Varric.

It all seemed so simple now. She sensed the dwarf's fleeting life-force as a feeble, flickering blue light seated deep in his broad chest. Dropping to her knees, she placed one hand over the hole in his back and urged the light to grow, to spread, to heal muscle and skin.

Varric shivered, then took a deep breath in. He coughed and groaned, rolling over onto his back where he blinked up at her.

There was concern in his gentle amber eyes. 'Hawke?'

'Oh, thank the Maker's balls,' she said, and lowered her forehead to his. Her skin prickled with the huge unspent reserve of mana in her veins. 'I nearly lost you.'

'Nonsense,' he scoffed. He took the hand she offered to pull himself into a sitting position. 'It would take more than a couple of…' His voice trailed away when he saw the puddle of blood that had gathered beneath him. 'Wow.'

Hawke was yanked to her feet by a hard hand on her shoulder.

'What was that?' Fenris hissed in her ear.

She turned to face him. 'I had to,' she said.

'You _used_ me?' The barely restrained rage in his voice made her wince, as did the armored hand that threatened to break her collarbone when it tightened with a strength she always found disturbing.

'Fenris...' she warned.

His eyes were on fire. Hawke felt a hot wave of anticipation run along her spine as the pent-up magic inside her begged for release.

'Hey, Elf. Everything okay?' Varric asked lightly, standing up and brushing off the back of his coat.

Fenris' upper lip curled in an expression of disgust and loathing she had seen a hundred times before, but he withdrew his hand. He shook his head and stalked away from them, the low guttural sounds of his native tongue just audible as he no doubt cursed all mages and magic to the depths of the void.

Hawke held out a hand when Varric made to follow him. 'Let him go,' she said quietly.

Varric instead put his arm around her waist and gave her a companionable squeeze. 'Tell you what, Hawke - I could do with a pint,' he said.

'Yeah, me too,' she said as Fenris disappeared from sight. She sighed and looked down. 'Hanged Man?'

'You read my mind.'

**x.x.x**

Varric placed the empty tankard on the scarred wooden tabletop with a distinctly unimpressed air. 'How many's that now?' he asked. 'Seven pints? And… nothing. I'm not even slightly tipsy. This better not last, Hawke.'

Hawke pouted. 'I agree. How am I ever supposed to take advantage of you if I can't get you drunk? Stupid spirit healing.'

He rolled his eyes. 'You know I only have eyes for one lady.'

'Stupid crossbow.'

Late evening was turning into early morning and the atmosphere in the Hanged Man pub was winding down. The patrons that remained had gone past the noisy, social stage of inebriation and were heading towards morose introspection. All except Varric, who was as sober as a cloistered Sister, and hating every minute of it.

He got up from his chair and walked to her side. 'I'm going to bed. No point wasting good coin on this piss-water when it's not having any effect.' He kissed her forehead. 'Goodnight, Hawke. Thank you again for saving my life.'

'Any time, my sweet cinnamon bun.' She had to smother a laugh at the face he pulled. She stood up and made her way to the exit.

The lower parts of Kirkwall never found the silent peace the more affluent areas knew in the early hours. When the daytime calls of traders and sailors faded with the vanishing light, the sounds of the evening took their place. Music played at all hours; strings and horns winding their notes through the labyrinthine streets, driven by a solid undercurrent of thumping drums. Cries of pleasure and heavy breathing came from almost every back alley she passed, and in the distance the wavering scream of a person dying floated through the mild night.

Hawke made her way into Hightown, unafraid of the shadows. There was no less death and debauchery in this part of the city, it was just better hidden.

Out of habit, she looked up at Fenris' mansion as she approached her home. Light flickered behind the windows, making her pause. After a moment's thought, she bypassed the entrance to her house and walked around to the stone steps that led up to a courtyard and the door to his place. Back when they were still civil with each other, she had joked about them being such close neighbours and how he could throw her down a bag of sugar if she ever ran out.

The mansion had been abandoned by his old master, Denarius, years earlier. Fenris had never made any effort to make the place his own, living like a squatter in someone else's forgotten opulence.

Her hand hovered over the thick brass door-knocker. This was a bad idea. But she knew she would be unable to sleep if she went home. The beer she had drank in order to show Varric that it was in fact alcoholic, helped. She gave the door three loud knocks, then stepped back.

A scowl hit his face as soon as he pulled open the heavy oak door and saw it was her.

'What do you want?' he asked.

'Just to talk,' she said. 'Can I come in?'

He glared at her. She was just about to turn around when he opened the door wider. 'If you must.'

That was encouraging, even though his expression didn't change as she followed him into the dusty hallway. Gossamer grey spider webs hung from the chandeliers, and the dank smell of damp and rotting wood made her wrinkle her nose. She had given up trying to get him to employ a servant a long time ago, mainly to avoid the snide 'slaver' comments despite how well he could see Orana was doing now she had a job.

Fenris only really inhabited two rooms based on the upper level of the mansion. He led her into what was once a drawing room, and she was relieved to find a crackling fire in the hearth and fresh rushes on the floor. It smelled much better in here.

'So, talk,' he said brusquely.

Hawke sat down and rubbed between her eyes. 'Fenris… I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

'For hitting you. But I will not apologise for doing what I did to save Varric's life.' She held his eye steadily. 'It was either that or open a vein.'

'I wish you were joking right now,' he said.

'We both know I'm not. I realised that today. I've lost too much to let any of you die when I can save you. With enough power, that is.'

'Do you have any idea what how that makes me feel about you?'

'I do,' she said. 'And that's why I needed to see you. Anders says the tension between mages and Templars is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I don't know what he means, but I will fight for my brothers and sisters in The Gallows. If you can't be by my side then we're going to be at war.'

'Is that what you want?' he asked, his voice cold.

She shook her head miserably. 'No. You are one of the most skilled warriors I have ever met. You're strong beyond belief and absolutely fearless in battle. Despite our disagreements, I respect you.'

He snorted in derision. 'Respect? If you had any respect for me, you wouldn't just use me as a walking lyrium potion,' he snapped.

'There was no other option,' she shouted. 'I could have cut my wrist or let him die. I chose to try something that wouldn't hurt anyone - other than your damn pride, of course.'

Suddenly he was on his feet and she stood quickly to face him down.

'The arrogance of mages,' he snarled. 'Denarius used me in exactly same way.'

Hawke froze and felt her stomach drop. 'I didn't know...'

'It took you a lot longer to think of it, I'll give you that,' he said with a humourless smile.

'Dear Maker, Fenris. I'm so sorry, I didn't think-'

'No, you didn't.'

Aghast, she looked down at her hands, then back to his face. 'No wonder you couldn't bear to let me touch you...' she said quietly.

A blush coloured his cheeks and ears before he walked away. 'I think you should leave now.'

'Wait. I hate myself for doing this but I do need to know where you stand. Are you with me, or against me?' she asked.

Fenris was silent for a long time. Finally, he raised his head. 'I'm with Isabela. If she is on your side then so shall I be. But I fight for her, not you or Anders. Are we clear?'

Hawke breathed in relief. 'That's… okay. Thank you.' She paused by the door. 'I meant it when I said I was sorry-'

'Just get out, Hawke.'

'Okay, okay. I'm going.'

The sky was starting to lighten when the front door slammed shut behind her.


End file.
